The dark side

The story may be fictional, but it is intense, especially in its reflection of the present, the likes of which we read regularly in the news…female infanticide continues to skew gender ration, shares the author

Women's March is not just about a month-long celebration of achievements, awards and patting each other's backs over empowerment achieved thus far. It is also a reflection of several issues that continue to plague women and their existence, not just in urban India, but across the geography of a country ridden by illiteracy, patriarchy and discrimination. Entrepreneur with a Ph.D. in business management. and author Hyma Goparaju's novel set in the year 1871 is about a patriarchal and wily head of the family, who ensures there is no girl child alive in her mansion. The first-ever census commences in the subcontinent of India that throws up a puzzling statistic of young girls in the province, and an investigation begins.

Here's an extract from the book published by Vishwakarma Publishers.

She stared morosely at the frail lips of her wispy baby pining for milk. The newborn had been wailing unstoppably from the time of her birth and the mother in her felt utterly helpless. Not because she couldn't feed her, but because she had been ordered not to for if she dared to suckle her just born baby girl, she would be thrown out of the mansion. And, with nowhere to go, she lay there, only shedding silent tears. The night was dark and a small oil lamp flickered at the far end of the muddy floor. The haunting stillness of the night was punctuated by the chirps of the cicadas. Two lizards chased their common prey and as her eyes followed their movements, a wolf's distant cry alerted her. She swallowed a lump in her throat and glanced nervously at her frail baby's puckered lips. To crush the insurmountable pain that was surging through her heart, she began to hum a lullaby in her wobbly voice,

Stop wailing my baby

there are wolves in the jungle,

Prying to steal you away

from me –

your infirm mother.

Sleep well, my baby,

forgive me - your hapless

mother

for I am your culprit -

that forlorn woman

who can't save her little one

from the deadly traps of

human wolves

that are sharpening their

canines

to dig deep into your heart.

This is no place for you.

So, sleep well, my dear baby,

As the abandoned daughter,

forever!

She was at once distracted by the creaking sound of the door and was not surprised to find Munni Behen's brutish face scanning the hut. She hated everything about that woman - her broken tooth smile, gnarled skin, wicked eyes, long ageing fingers and grimy nails that only dug into the tender skins of little baby girls, piercing into them the moment they were born. Like a hideous wolf, Munni stealthily entered into the hut and wrapped the baby in a tattered rug. She then disappeared with her loot at the blink of an eye. The night had turned pitch dark and she felt a chilly breeze sweep past her face. She muttered a small prayer under her breath and clamped her fists. Shutting her eyes tight, she let her ears remain open. She had always kept it that way so she could listen to that dreaded sound. And every time she heard it, it only killed the woman in her, more and more. And there it was - the thud of the tiny head against a large stone. There was no wail and this was what she wanted – that her baby die without any pain. The year before, when she had just delivered a little baby girl, Munni was not around and she was ordered to leave the little one to die in the cold winter night right outside the forlorn hut. She was locked inside the small hut and her baby had cried all through the night, giving up her breath only in the early hours. So tough was the tiny infant that it endured the terrible chill till the break of the dawn. She was helpless then too, just as she was now, and had only stared coldly in open air grieving for her little girl who had struggled like a true warrior as she battled for her survival, the memory of which was etched in her guilt-ridden conscience forever. This time she was relieved that Munni had arrived immediately upon being summoned. Perhaps no other mother had given birth to a baby girl in their village and so the fiendish woman was fully available to offer her murderous services. The sight of Munni had confused her as she couldn't understand whether to feel happy or sad; happy as her baby could die with little pain or sad that she couldn't spend a few more hours with her little one. In all, she hoped for a miracle to happen, every time. But it never did!

Sleep well, my dear baby,

there is no place for you here,

in this inhuman world,

that only abandons daughters!

As she crooned in her teary voice, heavy drops of tears trickled from her eyes and rolled onto the muddy floor in the derelict hut which had served as a rest room for many more mothers like her who had delivered baby girls in their village. This was the fourth time she lay there and she stared blithely into the empty darkness.